


Mutual Ineptitude

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Babies, Babysitter Molly, Babysitter Sherlock, Babysitting, Confessions, EVERYTHING GOES WRONG, Eventual Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Minor Anthea/Mycroft Holmes, Molly Hooper And Kids, Molly is a Good Friend, POV Sherlock Holmes, Poor Molly, Poor Sherlock, Pre-Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, Sherlock Being a Drama Queen, Sherlock Holmes Has a Crush, Sherlock Holmes and kids, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Fluff, Sherlock is a Mess, Sherlock-centric, Uncle Sherlock, Uncle-Nephew Relationship, inept sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 19:43:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7654225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is asked to babysit his nephew and it's an utter disaster, and so he asks for Molly's help. She doesn't make much of a difference, as she has just as much trouble as he does, but a few things come to light between them that make what might happen when his nephew goes home worth all the trouble in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mutual Ineptitude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sideofrawr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sideofrawr/gifts), [Thewomanwhocounts (Lovelymissmolly)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovelymissmolly/gifts).



> So _ages_ ago I got a prompt from an anonymous prompter on my Tumblr that went " _I know this has been done to death, but Sherlock babysits Mythea baby. Sherlock is out of his depth and calls Molly. She's just as useless, but they're useless together. Sherlock slips and says he worries about how he would be to his and Molly's children. That's all very sweet, but Sherlock and Molly aren't even dating... As far as she knows._ " When I had one of my Sherlolly fic title prompt claims **sideofrawr** claimed it and then it just sat there forever (my apologies!), and then recently it was my friend **Thewomanwhocounts (Lovelymissmolly)** 's birthday and she said she wanted Sherlolly fluff and I remembered this prompt, and even though it's late for _that_ as well, I finally was able to write it today. I hope all of you enjoy it!

It took him approximately thirty minutes of being alone with his nephew to know he was _sorely_ out of his depth.

Abigail was one thing. She was an absolute dream to watch, being well-mannered and obedient. But Reginald...he was a holy terror the likes of which Sherlock had never known. How a child like _that_ could be the offspring of his brother and his PA, he had no idea.

It took thirty minutes for him to realize he needed help.

It took thirty-one minutes for him to grab his mobile and pull up the contact of the only person he could think of who could possibly help.

“Molly, please, I’m begging, come to Baker Street and _save me_ ,” he said before she could even say hello.

“Sherlock, what is that sound in the background?” she asked, a curious tone in her voice.

“My nephew,” he said. “Please, I’m begging. I need your help. I will do whatever it takes to get it but he is the antithesis of Abigail and I can’t...I don’t know how to handle him.”

“I’ll see what I can do. I can be there in twenty minutes,” she said.

“Thank you,” he said, his tone so grateful he was almost disappointed in how pathetic he sounded. His nephew wouldn’t stop wailing and the sound was beginning to grate on his nerves, and he hung up quickly to spare Molly. She would hear it soon enough when she arrived. He looked over at the portable crib he used for when Abigail came over and at the wailing infant in it, and then went to the sofa and laid down on it, clamping a pillow over his head to try and muffle the sound.

He knew he was usually Mycroft’s last choice to babysit his nephew, and now he could see why. They did not get on in the slightest. Perhaps when the child was older they would but now? No, absolutely not. There were other, much more competent individuals capable of taking care of Reginald and right now Sherlock was wishing with all his heart that one of them had been called. How on earth were they possibly related? Had he wailed this much when he was a babe? Had he been this fussy and nothing would ease his cries?

He almost wasn’t aware when Molly had arrived other than a slight lessening in the volume of Reginald’s cries. He removed the pillow and saw Molly looking at him with a slightly amused glare. “Please tell me you don’t do this when you babysit Abigail,” she said, lifting Reginald out of the crib.

“No, she’s a perfect angel,” he said.

Molly tucked Reginald into her arms and tried to rock him to soothe him, but after a moment she frowned. “Sherlock, did your brother mention whether he’s cried like this before?” she asked. “Normally this worked rather quickly with Abigail.”

“Not a word, though knowing him he wouldn’t on purpose to make me suffer,” Sherlock said, getting off the sofa and coming to her side. “Why?”

“Was he screaming and crying when Mycroft and Andrea dropped him off?” she asked.

“He was asleep and woke up almost immediately after they left, as though he was aware he was no longer at home.”

“Or no longer in a moving car,” she said. She looked over at him. “Do you have a way to take him anywhere?”

“I have the car seat for Abigail, and we can take a cab,” Sherlock said. “Molly, you’re a genius.”

“Well, I try,” she said, blushing slightly. “You go get the car seat and I’ll get him bundled up.” Sherlock left and went to the entryway and the closet there to get the car seat. He brought it back up and stopped at the entryway, looking at Molly holding Reginald, overwhelmed for a moment by the sight. He’d thought, from time to time, of perhaps pursuing Molly in a romantic way, but usually dismissed it as having frittered away his chance long ago and resigned himself to simply being her acquaintance or, if he was lucky, her friend. But in moments like this, he wished they could be more.

He snapped himself out of his thoughts and then brought the car seat to her. “Here. If you’ll get him situated I’ll arrange for one of my Baker Street Irregulars to come pick us up.”

“You have a network of cabbies?” she asked with an amused smile.

“I pick up favours from all sorts,” he said with a nod. He handed her the car seat and then went to his mobile, pulling up a contact and then sending a text message. He waited a moment and got an affirmative response. “He’ll be here in ten minutes.”

“Well, in the meantime we can change Reginald’s nappy and prepare a bottle, just in case either of those things are the problem,” she said.

“You seem to know what you’re doing,” he said.

“I’ve had practice,” she said. She went to his diaper bag and then looked at it in horror. “What the…?”

“What?” he asked, frowning.

“Your brother uses _cloth nappies_?!?” she asked, looking up at Sherlock. “I have no idea how to change one of those!”

“Don’t look at me!” Sherlock asked. “John and Mary insisted there was absolutely no way they’d use cloth nappies almost as soon as they found out the sex of the baby so when I went on my baby knowledge binge learning to change one of those was something I didn’t learn.”

“Would your brother mind if we used one of Abigail’s nappies?” Molly asked, biting her lip.

“If he didn’t mind Andrea certainly would,” Sherlock said. “If you think Mycroft is overprotective he’s nothing compared to her. This child may have severe issues. I think he’d be swaddled in bubble wrap and then sequestered in a life-size hamster ball until he was a fully grown adult if it was at all possible.”

“So...no disposable nappy,” Molly said.

“No, absolutely not,” Sherlock said.

“Well, you go make a bottle and I’ll figure out how to change this nappy,” she said, taking Reginald over to the changing area that Sherlock had for Abigail. 

Sherlock looked in the diaper bag and saw that there was a small insulated container in the diaper bag and then pulled it out, and then unzipped it, seeing that there were bottles inside. He had an idea of exactly what it was. “Molly?”

“Yes?” she asked, turning to face him.

“Exactly how does one warm up a bottle of breast milk?” he asked, lifting up one of the bottles and holding it between two fingers.

“Um...the same as one would warm up a bottle of formula in the microwave, I’d suppose,” she said with a frown. “I don’t know. Mary uses formula, as do most of the other people I babysit for.”

“Wonderful,” he murmured. He looked at the bottle and then shook his head. He wasn’t the best at warming up bottles in the microwave in the first place. He always tended to make them too cool just to be on the safe side. “Do you suppose he’d drink a cold bottle?”

“You could try,” she said. She was quiet for a moment and then he came over to her as she lifted Reginald off the table, still wailing. The cloth diaper slipped right off his hips, and not only that, he urinated right in her face. “Sherlock!”

“Let me get you something to clean your face,” he said, sprinting back to the diaper back to get more wipes for her face and for Reginald. Part of him wanted to laugh because it was amusing, in a way, but it was also horrifying and he knew Molly would most likely slap him if he did. He took Reginald from her and handed her the wipes and she wiped her face and dabbed at the urine that had landed on her jumper. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s...oh, we’re hopeless,” she said with a frustrated sigh.

“Perhaps we’ll be better with our own children,” he said, tucking his nephew in his arms and then taking the bottle back and giving it to Reginald, not caring if it was cold. For the first time in nearly an hour, there was blissful silence as Reginald began to drink the bottle.

“Our children...as in _our_ children?” Molly asked, pausing in the act of wiping up the urine on her jumper.

He froze in the swaying motion he always adopted when he fed Abigail. “I...suppose?” he said, not looking at her.

“But we’re not dating, Sherlock,” she said. “I mean, I wouldn’t _mind_ , if _you_ wouldn’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he said, moving closer to her. “I just thought that you saw me as merely an acquaintance. Perhaps, if I was lucky, a friend. That I had blown any chance of being more than that.”

She gave him a shy smile. “Oh, Sherlock. If you had, I wouldn’t have come over like I did tonight to help you take care of a screaming infant.”

“Really?” he said, giving her a small smile.

“Really,” she said, moving closer.

He leaned in more, his lips about to brush against hers, when there was the sound of a thud as the bottle dropped to the ground and then Reginald began to cry again. Sherlock sighed and then hung his head. “I suppose it was too much to hope for,” he murmured.

“Well, why don’t you try and figure out the nappy while I warm up the bottle and then we get him settled in the car seat and get settled in the cab?” she said. “And then maybe once we get some peace and quiet, we can make some plans for when we have some time alone?”

He nodded, and she leaned over and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before bending down and picking up the bottle. He took Reginald back towards the changing table and set his nephew down. “Perhaps you aren’t a pain in the arse after all,” he said, looking down at his nephew with a small grin as he picked up the discarded cloth nappy and tried to figure it out. There was hope for this evening yet, he realized, and maybe hope for his future as well.


End file.
